Page 27 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

B efore Allan knew it, he was in his first physical fight in years.

Lord Wetherington tried to hit him back, but he was too slow, and with one firm thud to the chest, the Viscount was knocked down onto his back on the card table. The other gamblers scattered with betting tokens being flung everywhere and clay pipes smashing as they clattered to the floor.

“What is happening here?” a well-dressed man — possibly the owner though Allan didn’t care to look again to find out — called from the corner of the room.

Lord Wetherington was now pulling himself off the table, launching his body at Allan.

But Allan was too quick. He stepped to the side, dodging any possible injury and struck down on the back of Lord Wetherington’s head, knocking him down to his knees.

“Allan!” Stephen’s voice sounded at a distance over the cacophony of voices. “You want to be arrested for assault?”

“Calm yerself,” Gerard called to Stephen. “Nay constable is going to arrest a marquess lookin’ for his missin’ wife.”

When Lord Wetherington came at him again, Allan went for the nose a second time. It cracked even louder this time, and blood started to spurt out of it.

Allan had hurt his hand with the strength of the blow and had to shake out his knuckles, trying to relieve the sudden ache.

“Might I recommend aimin’ somewhere further south to do some permanent damage, Allan?” Gerard started shouting advice.

“Gerard!” Stephen snapped. “This isn’t helping.”

“Well, I’d be cheerin’ ye on if it was Dorothy we were lookin’ for. My money’s on Allan by the way. Where’s yers?”

“Gerard!”

He was not the only one. As Allan thrust Lord Wetherington down onto his back on the floor, he heard other men in the club now placing bets. Allan seemed to be getting most bets by a long shot. Lord Wetherington may have been tall, but he evidently had little experience in a fight. His face was now covered in so much blood from the broken nose that he was struggling to see anything or fight back properly.

“Listen to me,” Allan hissed, bending over Lord Wetherington. He got hold of the man’s cravat and used it to jerk Wetherington’s face up off the floor, just enough so he could be sure the Viscount was looking him in the eye and paying attention. “You will leave England. Go to the continent, the Americas, Australia for all I care.”

“You have to be —” Lord Wetherington’s blood-garbled words were cut off as Allan delivered another blow into his stomach.

“Ye bettin’, Stephen?” Gerard called.

“I won’t get good odds now.”

Allan didn’t look back at the pair of them. He just continued to pummel down on Lord Wetherington.

“All right, all right!” Lord Wetherington’s words were difficult to hear over the tumult, but the pitiful look was plain to see.

Allan paused, staring down at Lord Wetherington with one hand still tightly clasped on the man’s cravat.

“Leave,” Allan hissed again. “Or next time, I will not stop.”

For a second, Lord Wetherington said nothing then he nodded. It was quick, jerking movement, a moment of relenting.

“Good.” Allan stood. He walked over Lord Wetherington, treating him like the rubbish he knew the man to be. “Let’s leave,” he barked at his friends.

“What?” Stephen said in surprise.

“Lord Wetherington doesnae ken where she is, or under that beatin’, he would have told him,” Gerard said, racing along behind Allan.

As Allan stepped out of the club, he felt Stephen and Gerard close behind him. His blood was still pumping fast, the rage still emanating through his body. When he reached the carriage, he pulled himself inside quickly, sitting opposite Gerard and Stepehen and staring down at his bruised knuckles.

“Well done,” Gerard said approvingly.

“Well done!?” Stephen spluttered. “He could be done for assault.”

“They will nae charge him.” Gerard shook his head. “Besides, looks like Lord Wetherington is goin’ to run as fast as he can out of this country now.”

“Good,” Allan said with satisfaction. “Then he can never hurt Frederica again.”

“Great. What exactly have we learned tonight? Hmm?” Stephen said impatiently.

“We’ve learned that he threatened her.” Allan looked up from his bruised knuckles. “Did you not see his reaction when I mentioned she was gone? He had such satisfaction to hear she had left me. We know he was behind this but not where she’s gone.”

Allan sighed with relief and hung his head forward again. At least Frederica wasn’t at the Viscount’s mercy. At least, she couldn’t be hurt by Lord Wetherington now.

“What now then?” Stephen asked.

“I’d say first,” Gerard paused, looking at Allan, “ye need to get that cleaned up.”

“My hand? It’s fine.” Allan shook out the bruised knuckles.

“Yer other hand.”

Allan looked down at his other hand to see his knuckles were bloodied. He hadn’t even noticed that; at one point, he must have switched which hand he was punching with. This hand was bloodied all the way across his knuckles.

“My house is closer. We’ll go there,” Stephen said then shook his head. “And let’s pray that a constable doesn’t come searching for you.”

“They will nae,” Gerard said again to Stephen, even managing to laugh. “Ye think this is the first-time men have come to blows in a gambling club? They’ll write it off as nothing. Stop worryin’ about that. Let’s just concentrate on where on earth Frederica could be if she is nae with Lord Wetherington.”

Allan nodded in agreement. He had been so certain that was where she would be. Though he was incredibly relieved that she was not with Lord Wetherington, and he was not hurting her, Allan was still back at square one.

“Ah, Freddie,” he muttered to himself. “Where the hell are you?”

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Frederica broke off from the letter she had been attempting to write. Night had fallen and she thought she was alone in Honora’s sitting room. She had been here for hours attempting to write a letter to Allan, with various drafts of the letter now screwed up into tiny balls cluttering the floor.

She turned to see Honora in the doorway, already dressed for bed with her hair loose around her shoulders and a shawl wrapped tightly around her arms.

“Are you writing a novel?” Honora asked in jest, walking into the room and sitting in a chair by the fire. It was a damp night, so they had lit the fire to keep themselves warm. It gave off a soothing orange glow though Frederica could find little comfort in it for the time being. “You have certainly got enough paper here for a book.”

Frederica wrinkled her nose as she looked at all of the discarded sheets.

“Sorry about this,” she whispered to Honora. Releasing the quill and placing it back down on the desk, she leaned back in her chair, sighing as she gazed at all the papers. “I keep trying to write a letter, but as you can see, I’m making poor progress.”

“To your husband?”

To hear the words made Frederica’s heart beat a little faster.

He is still my husband. I made a vow in church to him to be his wife and to love him forever.

At that moment, there was nothing she wished for more than to be able to keep her vow. She longed to run back to London, to be with Allan, to throw herself at his feet and apologize for everything, but she couldn’t.

To do so would be to put him in danger.

“What are you trying to tell him exactly?” Honora asked, peering at the pieces of paper littering the floor curiously, as if they were insects scuttling across the ground.

“I don’t really know.” Frederica’s words made Honora look up sharply. “That’s mad, isn’t it? All I know is that I want to speak to him, to talk to him. I think I would be happy if I was just sitting beside him, with no words between us. Isn’t that mad? What a ridiculous sort of longing!”

She wiped her eyes, trying to remove the sleep dust and feel more awake.

“It’s not mad, not at all,” Honora said, with evident fondness in her voice. “That’s love, sweetheart.”

Frederica lowered her hands from her face. This time, she didn’t bother denying it, either to Honora or herself. She just accepted it as a fact.

I am in love with him.

“When did it happen? How could it happen?” she whispered. “I was so busy trying to push him away, to keep my distance, and to not let myself run away with the idea of being happy?—”

“A ridiculous thing to attempt, but go on,” Honora ushered her.

“I just don’t understand how I could fall in love with him so quickly.”

“In my experience, love is not something you can prepare yourself for. It just happens, even when you’re not ready for it. It’s why they call it falling in love, dearest,” Honora said with gentleness in her tone. “You don’t jump into it, you tumble in.”

* * *

“My brother fighting, eh?” Dorothy said with a laugh.

“This isn’t funny,” Charlotte said, offering up a warming bowl of water. She offered the bowl to Allan, and he placed his hand in it. It was warm and soothing against the bruises on his skin. “You could have been in serious trouble.”

“Never mind that.” Allan took the bowl from her with a grateful smile. “All I want to know is where Frederica could be now if he doesn’t have her.”

“All of this still doesn’t make sense to me.” Charlotte sighed as Gerard and Stephen served them all drinks.

It was now late in the night, and they’d all taken refuge at Stephen’s and Dorothy’s house, now that the kids had gone to bed.

“Which part?” Dorothy asked. “Makes perfect sense to me. Frederica was afraid for our safety when Lord Wetherington threatened us all, so to keep Allan safe, she told him she didn’t want to be with him anymore and left.”

“Hmm.” Charlotte sighed, looking more discomforted than ever as she fidgeted in her seat.

“What is it?” Allan asked.

“Just that I didn’t think she would leave you for any reason,” Charlotte whispered. “I thought she was rather in love with you.”

“That’s exactly why she has left if you ask me,” Dorothy said with a jerk of her hand. “Because she loves him, she can’t stand the fact that she may be the cause of him getting hurt.”

Allan froze. The bowl of water which had felt warm and soothing a minute ago was suddenly ice cold with what Charlotte had said.

She thinks Frederica loves me? Could it be possible?

“I think she just married me because I offered,” he said slowly. “That was all.”

“And she ran away once to avoid marrying such a man who offered to marry her, didn’t she?” Dorothy said with a roll of her eyes. “Yet she said yes to you. Curious, isn’t it?”

Allan didn’t even dare blink as he thought of what had happened. Was it possible that, even back then, Frederica had felt some softness toward him? Had she liked him enough to accept his proposal when she would have run away from other men?

“Whether she loves you or not, none of this explains where she might have gone now,” Stephen said, stepping in and handing Allan what looked like a rather strong whisky. Allan gratefully took it and began to gulp.

Out of the corner of his eye, Allan caught Charlotte’s expression. She pressed her lips together and looked down into her lap.

For a second, he thought she knew where Frederica might have gone, but she volunteered nothing, so he presumed he had been wrong about the subject. He had made the same mistake with Frederica’s lady’s maid, thinking she had an idea of where Frederica had gone, but when he had asked her, she had denied knowing anything. Clearly, his judgement at this present time was not to be trusted, probably impaired by fear.

“When did she leave?” Gerard asked.

“In the early hours of the morning. She took one of our coaches. I haven’t seen the footman or the driver since who took her.” Allan felt this was an ominous sign indeed, but it only made Charlotte squirm all the more.

Once more, Allan glanced at her curiously.

Is it possible that she knows something?

“Anything to say, Charlotte?” Allan asked cautiously. What was interesting was plainly he was not the only one who had noticed her behavior. Gerard was now resting a hand on the back of Charlotte’s chair.

“Ye’re deep in thought,” he remarked softly to her.

Allan noticed that Gerard seemed to use a softer tone of voice when he was speaking with Charlotte, much softer than the gruff tones he used for the rest of them. Charlotte leaned toward him an inch, recognizing that gentle tone too.

Frustrated once more to be looking at other couples’ happy faces, Allan looked away.

“I don’t know anything; I just have a suspicion.”

“What suspicion?” Dorothy asked eagerly. “Charlotte, do you think you know where she has gone?”

“It’s only a guess.” Charlotte shrugged. “I was just thinking of the last time she ran away and where she went then. It would make sense for her to go there again, would it not? And if you haven’t seen the coach since, Allan, then it would surely mean they were still on the road, travelling, which would make sense if they were coming back from being so far away.”

“Oh.” Allan sat forward, realization dawning on him. He nearly dropped the bowl in surprise, but it was caught safely by Dorothy.

He felt a fool for not seeing it at once. It made sense. Who was the person whom Frederica trusted most in this world? Where had she run to when she needed to escape London before and all the fears here? She had placed herself far away, deep in the depths of Cornwall.

“You think she has gone to stay with her aunt?” Allan said, watching as Charlotte nodded.

“If she went of her own volition, where else would she go?” Charlotte asked. “She certainly wouldn’t go to her parents, not if she wanted to feel safe.”

“But she would go to her aunt’s. With Honora, she would feel safe,” Allan realized, muttering to himself and shaking his head. “Damn I’m such a fool.” He stood, only taking the strip of linen which had been prepared for the wound on his hand when Dorothy offered it up to him.

“Wrap up your wound, please,” Dorothy begged. “And no more punching men.” When Allan arched his eyebrows at her, she revealed the smallest of smiles and nodded. “I’m still glad you hit him. He deserved it.”

“He got a good beating,” Stephen said. He was still a little uncomfortable though Gerard just smiled broadly.

“He deserved even worse,” Gerard muttered.

Allan made his way toward the door, stopping when Stephen called to him, so he had to tarry in the doorway for a moment.

“Where are you going?” Stephen asked from his seat nearby.

“Where do you think?” Allan asked with a gruff laugh, as if stating the obvious. He walked out of the door, calling the last few words over his shoulder. “I’m going to go to Cornwall and get my wife back.”